Albion's Savior
by Parsnip36
Summary: It's been 1400 years since Arthur's death, but his soul cannot rest. His faithful servant has waited all this time, but where does Arthur fit into WWII-era England? How can he help his people in a time of need? Not the best summary, I know. Contains very mild slash.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Naturally, the finale to Merlin left me depressed (Okay seriously it happened a week ago and I'm still not over it what's wrong with me). I've been coping with the loss by reading various reunion fics, but I'm always somewhat disappointed with the way Arthur's return is portrayed. There's rarely a reason for it, he always just kind of shows up. (Not that I don't appreciate the other fics out there- you guys are truly awesome!) So here's my take on the way their story will play out. This chapter is really more of a prologue; I hope to make it a bit more light-hearted. Also, I'm American, so my dialect may be a little different than British readers are used to hearing on the show. :)

* * *

He had lived to see it all.

He had lived to see Albion united, to see it prosper. He had lived to see it divided, to be unable to stop it. He had lived to see king after king claim the throne: some worthy and honorable men, some cruel tyrants.

And he had lived to see the age of kings fall.

The ancient art of magic had died out, with only legends remaining. The Old Religion was forgotten.

And he was alone.

He had lived to see countless wars: some great, some small affairs. Humans had become so good at finding new ways to cause destruction. They no longer needed magic. Various inventions had become commonplace, making his old spells look like parlour tricks. Keeping up with current events and such had become exhausting, and he rarely bothered anymore. Once in a while, if the need was great, he would step in to help resolve a conflict from the sidelines.

He had found ways to pass the time, of course. Most of his waking hours were spent working his small farm. The rest of the time, he slept. The old man rarely used his magic anymore; there was hardly a use for it in the modern world. After an eternity of waiting, the Earth had outgrown Merlin.

And still he waited.

* * *

The afterlife was not quite like the way most humans had imagined it.

As a brave knight would be struck down in battle, he would feel a flash of pain, which would quickly subside. His body would drift off into a state of unconsciousness as his mind would fly in many directions. He would be assaulted by visions: some blissful and nostalgic, some regretful and angry. And finally, his soul would be at peace. The brave knight would drift off into a calm, eternal rest.

Such was not the case, apparently, for kings.

At least, not for the great King Arthur. As he had felt his life slowly slip away, he had a great deal weighing on his mind. He worried for his kingdom, his people, his family. He worried for his fellow knights, those who had bravely laid down their lives. And as Arthur's body finally died, his worried mind remained.

His soul was at rest, but not at peace.

_Is this what purgatory is like?_

He would often wonder such things. He wasn't alive, he could not move nor see nor hear. Yet he was conscious. He became aware whenever a familiar soul passed on, leaving the earth to be at rest. He would feel a touch of grief at this knowledge, soon followed by a relief and acceptance. And then, a pang of loneliness as he was reminded again and again that he was utterly and completely alone. He felt the souls of his kin, his knights, his beloved Guinevere, each pass on in their own time. Each was brought to an eternal slumber. With one notable exception.

For most people in the afterlife, time had no meaning. They simply slept, interrupted by the occasional happy dream. For Arthur, time passed in a strange manner. He had no perception of days, months, years... only eternity. Each time the monotony of his consciousness was broken by another passing soul, an eternity would pass. If he were still human, he felt he might have gone mad. But he couldn't. All he could to was wait, as a tired man does when he cannot fall asleep.

As many lifetimes as Arthur waited, something was always missing. In time, he understood why it was that he lived in this manner, if you could call it living. Quite simply, his soul could not be at peace because it was incomplete. No matter how long he waited, he still missed that which made him whole.

_Call it Destiny._

That was the word Merlin had always used. Arthur's destiny was to be a great king, and Merlin's was to be at his side. But Arthur knew now that his fate was only the beginning. He was tethered to the Earth by a greater destiny, one that he remained patiently waiting to fulfill.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Sorry for the short chapters and slow update speed- I have had some unexpected complications in my real life, as well as a healthy dose of writer's block. I'll try to get better about this, but reviews (positive or negative) are the best encouragement. Thanks for reading!_  
_

* * *

_What year is it?_

Merlin thought idly. He had stopped keeping track of the date centuries ago. Everything was changing at such a pace, and yet nothing was changing. What did it even matter anymore?

It was sometime in the early 20th century, of that much he was certain. He was tending his garden, as he often did in the afternoons. There was hardly a reason to seek employment; he was capable of surviving quite easily off of what he grew on his small patch of land. He could make a plant sprout into full bloom from a seed in mere seconds.

But he rarely did.

When one gets to be as old as Merlin, one needs something to keep busy. His garden was his solace, his place of refuge. His place to escape his own mind. When he needed a quiet place to think, he would hike over to the Lake, sit on the shore, and close his eyes. His memories would wash over him, the pain sharpening his focus. It was his place of torment. The garden, on the other hand, was the perfect place to avoid thinking. He would simply work, allowing nature to take its course.

He reached for a rather large weed, grasping it firmly and pulling gently. It would not budge. Even after a thousand years of youth, Merlin had accomplished little when it came to improving his physical strength. He had tried, of course. With each passing decade, he had searched for new pastimes to fill the void. He had trained himself to fight, although it was a skill he scarcely needed. Hiding his magic was no longer a problem for Merlin.

He pulled the weed harder, feeling the stem begin to tear from its roots. _  
_

* * *

Hours later, Merlin was walking along the road through a busy town, a large basket of flowers in his hand. He would do this each Sunday, venturing into the middle of a city to sell them to passersby. It was enough for the few luxuries he afforded himself. He was almost to his favorite, oft-visited corner when he was stopped by an old couple.

"How much for a flower?" asked the old man. Merlin smiled at him.

"Two dollars apiece," he replied.

The man scrutinized the basket for a moment before selecting a simple red rose. He thanked Merlin, returning the smile, before offering the rose to the woman. Her eyes lit up as she grinned back at him. They were small, enfolded by her aging skin. Her hair was coarse and gray, her hands wizened and shaking. Yet when she smiled at the gentleman, she looked just like a teenaged girl. Likewise, he appeared no more than twenty.

Merlin watched them walk away, hand in hand. He swallowed, suppressing a memory of a time when he might have been that happy.

And as the old man walked away with his wife, he thought back to the young stranger in wonder. The man couldn't have been more than thirty years old. His face was young, his body strong. But his eyes had contained none of the brightness of youth.

The young stranger seemed like the oldest soul he had ever encountered.

* * *

After a long day, Merlin found himself absentmindedly wandering back toward his house, his basket empty, a tidy profit in his pocket. He'd have a hot bath when he got home, he decided. The basket hung awkwardly to his side, so he slung it over his shoulder. He let out a sigh.

Suddenly, a terrible cacophony filled the air.

A bomb siren blared somewhere in the distance, gradually getting louder and louder. People who had been calmly walking down the street moments ago were now in a panic. A young man brushed past Merlin as he ran in the opposite direction, frantically holding onto his bags of groceries. A middle-aged woman rushed down the street, each arm clinging to a frightened child's hand.

"Are you crazy, kid? Get in here!" an unfamiliar voice called. An older man had spotted Merlin, calmly walking down the side of the street. "You'll be dead at that rate. There's room for one more in our shelter."

Merlin pretended not to have heard him. He continued walking at a leisurely pace, knowing that the bomb threat posed no danger to him.

_I've survived worse. Far worse._

He set down his basket on a street corner, steeling himself. It was not often that he used his magic on a grand scale, and he almost welcomed the opportunity. He would protect as many innocent people as he could. He sighed again, closing his eyes.

_What's the point? It doesn't matter what I do. People are just going to keep killing each other. _

Merlin shook his head. He couldn't think like that. Not now. Not when there were innocent lives at stake. He took a quick look around, making sure he was out of sight. He inhaled deeply once more before beginning his incantation. Merlin set to work, casting the strongest protective enchantments he could muster, forcing his doubt to the back of his mind.

_I don't know how much longer I can keep doing this. _


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed, the reviews really do keep me going! I've got a lot of exciting ideas for where I want this story to go, but I've been having really bad writer's block lately (Hence the infrequent updates and short chapters. XP). So if I don't update this soon, that's why. I haven't given up. :)**

* * *

Arthur had been growing steadily more and more uneasy for quite some time. His incorporeal yet sentient being ached with the need to be whole again. He felt the pain of his people, the senseless waste of life.

He felt as though the imaginary chain tethering him to his homeland was growing tighter and tighter with each passing moment.

* * *

For Merlin, it must have been the middle of the night. He had hobbled home and fallen asleep the moment his head had hit the pillow. He was exhausted.

Events such as those that had transpired that evening always left him feeling drained. It wasn't because he was out of practice using magic. His skills were as sharp as ever. But Merlin had spent his last shred of energy that night, and he felt... empty.

One person cannot rid the world of evil and destruction. He had concluded that long ago. And Merlin, after all, hardly felt like one person anymore. Half a person, perhaps.

A sudden jolt of energy woke Merlin from his slumber. It was a strange sensation, one he couldn't explain. The Earth was calling to him. Merlin, still dressed, threw on his jacket and ran outside.

The instant he stepped out his front door, he fell to his knees. The ground beneath him felt _alive._ Each wisp of air seemed to sparkle before his eyes. The magic that Merlin thought had long since died out flowed through his body stronger than ever before. He laughed out loud, pressing his hands into the ground. Merlin closed his eyes, allowing the Earth's magic to flow through his veins. Voicelessly, the Earth was pleading to him. The warlock responded, pouring every last bit of magic he could muster back into the Earth.

As he felt the magic drain him, he finally collapsed. Merlin beamed, laughing to himself as he drifted off to sleep in the grass, more alive than he had felt in centuries.

* * *

_Albion needs me. My _people _need me. _

Arthur strengthened his resolve, pushing through his pain. His homeland called out to him as a wave of magical energy washed over his being. He felt lighter, and yet heavier than he had ever been. Suddenly, a he was struck by a strange sensation.

_Water._

For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, Arthur _felt._ He felt water, unsettled water rushing him from all sides. It was pushing him, first gently, then forcefully. It was pushing him forward.

And for the first time in an eternity, he felt cold. He felt the cold air sting his face as he emerged from the water, gasping for breath. He felt the cold night air sting his lungs, dry and raw from lack of use. He felt the cold metal of Excalibur against his bare chest as he gripped the sword desperately.

Arthur opened his eyes.

He was floating in some sort of lake, that much was certain. The air was dark and thick with a cool mist. The land surrounding was completely unfamiliar. He slowly made his way to the shore, guided by instinct alone.

"Oi! You there!"

A strange, hostile voice shouted to him. Arthur turned to see two men lumbering toward him. The king was not usually intimidated easily, but he felt his pulse quicken as he turned to face them. Each man was tall and fat, both swaggering drunkenly toward him. One was holding a strange sort of metal object, a glowing orb in its middle.

_Sorcery?_

A primal defensive impulse took over, and Arthur drew his sword. The men leaped back, holding up their arms in a gesture of surrender.

"Who are you?" Arthur demanded. His hoarse throat stung as he forced out his first words. The men were eyeing him strangely. One turned to the other, asking him something in a slurred, unfamiliar tongue.

Suddenly, both took off running, undoubtedly terrified. "Wait!" Arthur tried to shout, but his weak voice only carried so far. He dashed after the men as quickly as his feet could carry him.

Unfortunately for Arthur, this was not very quickly at all. He chased them several yards before slowing to a halt, collapsing on the ground, breathing heavily. He had no stamina left. Arthur coughed and wheezed, burning his dry throat until his head fell onto the dirt and he promptly fell asleep.

The next thing he became aware of was that he was being moved. Two sets of arms were carrying him off, wrapped in a blanket. The king was tempted to give into his exhaustion and allow them to continue until he felt his sword being gently tugged from his grip. He forced his eyes open a crack, peering around to observe his surroundings.

A tall, unfamiliar figure was carrying the king by his shoulders. A black, scruffy beard shrouded his features, making Arthur somewhat uncomfortable. Another figure, stocky and female, was supporting his feet. It was the third figure that caused his concern. A strange-looking man with glass discs covering his eyes was cautiously prying Arthur's hands open, slowly removing his sword.

_Thief._

Arthur instantly tightened his grip. "Aaargh!" he screamed. "How dare you?" He thrashed his limbs angrily, escaping the grip of the startled strangers and falling to the ground. Quickly, he squirmed up onto his knees, shoving his sword out in self-defense. "Who are you?" demanded the frightened king, waving Excalibur around in a manner that was probably less threatening than he had intended.

_THUD_

Arthur felt a blunt object collide with the back of his head. He let out a small whimper before once again slipping into the black abyss of heavy, dreamless sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I feel like the chapters of this story are rather short. I'm starting to wonder what you all think about the pacing of this story. Please let me know! I'd love any reviews, positive or negative!**

* * *

As the sun rose, sweeping a cool breeze over the countryside, Merlin opened his heavy eyes. Half his face was cold and wet from sleeping on the dewy morning grass. Looking around, he noted that his garden seemed... different, somehow. Fresher. More beautiful. Physically, nothing had changed. None of the plants had grown since he had last seen them.

Actually... everything around him- the sky, the trees, his home... it all seemed _brighter,_ somehow.

Merlin shook his head. He couldn't allow himself to hope, not again. His hopes had been raised far too many times only to be crushed by the reality that he still was and always would be alone.

Still, he couldn't ignore the signs.

_I'll just go down to the lake to see if anything over there seems different,_ he resolved. _It's not like I'm getting my hopes up. I'm simply going to make an objective evaluation of the situation. Just in case. _

He began to hike briskly toward the lake. His ragged breathing became faster and faster with anticipation as he broke into a run.

_Arthur won't be there, _he reminded himself. _I'm only doing this to put my mind at rest. Better to make sure now than to waste time worrying about him later._

But as he reached the shore of the lake, he nearly bowled over in shock.

_Magic._

It flowed through this hallowed ground as purely and as powerfully as it had flowed through Merlin and the Earth the night before. Merlin had, in the days of magic, often been able to sense its use by other sorcerers. But this... this felt as if all the remnants of the Earth's magic were concentrated in this very spot.

His bright blue eyes widening, Merlin looked around for nearby life. Spotting two large workmen a short ways down the shore, he smiled, exhaling sharply in excitement.

"Excuse me?" he called, running toward them. "Excuse me! Sirs?"

The burly, muscled men were in the process of carrying a wide tree away from the lake. Merlin hoped they hadn't felled it themselves, the thought of anyone harming this land made his skin crawl. They turned to face him, setting down their load.

"Have you... erm... have you seen anyone? Er... last night? Did anything strange happen?"

The men glanced skeptically at each other before the shorter one responded in a thick accent, "Strange...? You mean that strange bloke last night?"

Merlin's heart skipped a beat. "Who?" he asked breathlessly. "What did he look like?"

The man chortled. "He looked _crazy, _that's what he looked like. No clothes, a giant sword, dunno what the hell that language was..."

The other man joined in, laughing cruelly. "Idiot. He were going to kill us with that thing!"

Merlin felt his pulse quicken even more so than it already had. "Where is he now?" he demanded frantically.

"You know him?" the first man barked.

"Yes! He's... my friend."

"He had some sort of a fit. We called the police as soon as we could. 'Course, they were busy..." he trailed off. The previous night's bombing seemed like a million years ago to Merlin.

"I'm pretty sure they took him to the jail," the other man suggested, "until they figure out what to do with him. My money's on the madhouse," he snickered. But Merlin had already taken off running.

"Thank you!" he called over his shoulder.

Arthur was back. He knew. He could _feel _it. Merlin's mouth broke into a grin as he ran toward the city.

_Arthur, you idiot. You've been back less than a day and already I have to save your ass. __Just like old times._

* * *

On the positive side, Arthur had had plenty of time to think.

He had woken up in what he could only assume was a dungeon. The walls were a dull, strangely smooth gray stone, and a row of thin black bars prevented his exit through the door. A similar set of bars also blocked off the small window just above Arthur's head.

After evaluating his surroundings, he had spent the better part of an hour yelling out the door and window for someone to release him at once. The strange people had acknowledged his demands initially, coming over to see what was wrong with him. Arthur had demanded to know _who_ was keeping him here and _where_ he was and _what_ was going on, but his efforts were in vain. The people responded in a foreign tongue, serving only to aggravate him further. They had hovered around him for a few minutes before apparently deciding that attempts at communication were futile and they had better leave him alone. Eventually, Arthur had stopped screaming and sat down on the room's only piece of furniture: a hard bench.

It was then that he noticed the unfamiliar clothing he was wearing. The material was strangely soft, and it hung loosely off of him like a set of sleeping garments. The shirt and pants were a dull gray, only slightly darker than the prison walls surrounding him.

He didn't remember having clothing on him before. Someone must have dressed him while he was unconscious. Perhaps it had been his manservant...

_But it couldn't have been,_ he realized horribly, his heart dropping into his stomach. _Merlin is gone. Everyone_ _is gone._

Understanding crashed over him like a tidal wave, almost literally knocking him off his feet.

He quite clearly remembered dying, of that he was certain. Slowly, and then quickly, his memories came flooding back to him. He remembered his unspoken goodbye to Merlin. He remembered spending an eternity alone in a hollow, stagnant state of consciousness in death. He remembered sensing an enormous passage of time, even if his perception of it all was quite different than those on Earth.

_Everyone is gone now, _he finally understood. He had acted rashly before, having just reawoken in a state of immense confusion. His instinctive actions had led him to lose Excalibur, he realized, but it mattered little to him now. All that mattered to him was the one thought that now weighed tortuously on his mind.

Everything and everyone in Camelot was gone, and he had no idea how much time had passed since then.

Arthur leaned back against the wall, his hands falling limply into his lap. His eyelids slid shut as his head came to rest against the cold surface. Their faces swam across his mind: Gwen, his knights, Merlin... everyone he had loved and lost.

Strangely... he didn't remember Merlin dying. A bubble of hope rose in his chest. Everyone else was definitely gone, but... was it possible that Merlin was still alive? Everything was a blur, forgotten as easily as one forgets a dream hours after waking up.

_He can't be. _

He was still unsure as to how much time had elapsed since his death. Several lifetimes, easily. Arthur wasn't sure how, he just... knew. He knew that it had been far too long for anyone to have survived. Arthur was an artifact of the past, returned to the Earth by the forces of a destiny he didn't understand, one he would have to realize utterly and completely alone.

A tear fell to his cheek. He sighed in despair, allowing himself to reminisce on his loved ones: his beloved, steadfast queen, the men who had pledged their lives to Camelot's glory, the cheerful servant who would have gone to the ends of the Earth and back for his king... the servant for whom Arthur would have done the same.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Well, I'm back. I think it's generally more my style to post short chapters (somewhat) frequently, but after this I may aim for longer chapters to improve the pacing of the story. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, I love to hear any feedback at all!**

* * *

_BANG_

Arthur was jerked out of his blissful reverie by a sudden noise: the sound of a massive collision far off in the distance.

The noise had come from outside the dungeon, of that much he was sure. He shuffled over to the door, attempting to peer around the corner and locate the commotion from behind bars. He caught sight of the guards running off in the opposite direction to investigate. He chuckled to himself. Even in this time, guards were so quick to leave their posts. Some things never change.

_SCREEEEECH_

The cacophony of metal scraping against glass. Arthur whipped his head around. The bars covering the room's one small window were rearranging themselves. On their own.

_Witchcraft!_

Another noise. A clang of metal on metal from behind Arthur's back. He turned again to find the source.

Excalibur, having been nowhere in sight, now rested between the bars enclosing his cell, well within his grasp. Arthur leaped forward to reclaim his trusted weapon, slightly disappointed at the realization that he was no longer in possession of a sheath.

Suddenly struck by a sense of urgency, Arthur turned back to the window. The bars had completely bent themselves out of shape, allowing room for him to squeeze through and out into the world. Except... the window was still covered by a slim pane of glass. Arthur put his hand up to it... and it slipped right through. Ordinarily, the king might have questioned the presence of such supernatural forces and the implications thereof, but for the moment he simply took advantage. Clambering up onto the stiff bench, Arthur hoisted himself to the window sill and climbed through with all the grace one might expect from a long-dead man.

As soon as he was free, the bars returned of their own accord to their original orientation. Arthur stopped to catch his breath.

_This can only be the work of a sorcerer,_ he concluded. He surveyed his surroundings in awe. To his right, a smooth black road wove between buildings- tall and short, all with extravagant windows and walls of layered brick. To his left, he observed a shallow forest. In the distance, he could see even more bizarre and unfamiliar buildings._  
_

_SNAP_

Another noise, this time significantly more subtle. A twig snapping, several yards away. Arthur turned to his left, sensing a presence from behind a grove of trees. He braced himself, assuming a posture ready to attack or defend an enemy.

"Show yourself!" he demanded, lifting Excalibur in the stranger's direction.

He wasted no time in responding. Poking his head out from behind a tree, a young-looking man took a step in Arthur's direction. Messy dark hair... shabby clothing... those ridiculous ears... and an expression on his face unlike any Arthur had ever seen: infinite hope, joy, and love shining through the visage of a broken man.

_Merlin. _

Arthur's heart skipped a beat; he felt as if it had fallen through the ground. He smiled, exhaling sharply before beginning to breathe rapidly and erratically.

_It can't be._

They stood in this manner for several seconds, simply staring. Finally, Merlin took another step toward him, sensing Arthur's shock. It was enough to break the barrier.

"Merlin!" he shouted, the exclamation overflowing with pure joy. Dropping his sword immediately, he ran over to his servant, wrapping his arms around his slim frame. As the two collided, Arthur felt Merlin let out a ragged breath he must have been holding. He returned the embrace, squeezing the king as tightly as he possibly could.

_Pride be damned._ Arthur turned his head and pressed a hard kiss to his friend's cheek. He could feel Merlin contort his face and scrunch his eyes, shaking slightly as a tear escaped. He held him for a minute, or perhaps it was several. Time no longer mattered. Nothing did. They simply were, holding each other, neither needing to speak. A part of Arthur wanted to shake Merlin and demand that he explain everything. Immediately. He was desperate for answers, yet he was even more desperate not to let go, not to ever let go of his servant again.

* * *

It was Merlin who finally pulled away. _Ironic, _he thought._ Arthur was never the sappy, touchy, emotional type. _Centuries ago, he would likely have found this amusing. Now, as it was happening, he found the realization dampening his elation. _You said you didn't want me to change,_ he remembered.

_I didn't want you to change either._

And he hadn't. Arthur had been an arrogant prat, as Merlin was never shy about reminding him. But as much as he hated to admit it, the king's cocky demeanor was part of his charm, and he had loved him for it.

"You're... you're back," was all he managed to choke out. Arthur smirked, though it quickly fell as his eyes grew distant.

"How... long was I gone?" he asked, hesitating. Merlin paused, unsure of how the truth would be received.

"Erm... A long time," he said gently, avoiding direct eye contact. Arthur put a hand on his shoulder.

"Merlin..." he implored, his eyes pleading. "How long has it been?" Merlin exhaled, as nervous to admit how long it really had been for his own sake as for Arthur's.

"...Centuries," he breathed.

Arthur closed his eyes. He swallowed, taking a step back.

"How many centuries?"

"About thirteen," Merlin stated, eyes fixated on the ground.

"THIRTEEN?" Arthur shouted, all emotion leaving his face, annoyance flooding in. It was strangely comforting, hearing Arthur yell in frustration. Like returning home.

Had it really been thirteen whole centuries? He certainly hadn't been keeping track of the date very well.

"... Maybe fourteen..."

"Fourteen?" Arthur repeated, still clearly in shock. "How? How is that possible? What's going on? I _died_. What... happened?" he rambled, bringing his hands to his forehead and back down again onto Merlin's shoulders.

"Arthur..." Merlin started. "You're here because it is your destiny. You were a great leader, but... you were meant for so much more than you ever lived to achieve," he said slowly, swallowing back another tide of tears. Arthur dropped one hand, smirking.

"Careful, Merlin. You're starting to sound wise again." Merlin smiled back, but his face quickly grew solemn.

"Arthur... you need to understand. Camelot doesn't exist anymore. Everyone who lived there..." Merlin trailed off, deciding against bringing up specific names, "... has been gone for a long time."

"I know," Arthur stated simply. His face was expressionless, but Merlin recognized the pain in his eyes. "I knew it had been a long time, I just didn't know it had been _that_ long," he continued. "They are at peace now, that I understand. What I don't understand... is why we're here. Did you also come back? For _destiny_?" he sneered, his distaste for the idea on the tip of his tongue. Merlin smiled sadly. _  
_

"I never died."


End file.
